Traitor's Doom (Dr. Palfrey)

by John Creasey

  ‘But the Guarda will be striking tomorrow, you are on the winning side while with us, you—’

  ‘There will be no Guarda Nationale after tonight,’ said the Marquis very calmly. ‘The headquarters here will be raided within the hour, but before then we want Palfrey and the others.’

  De Barros turned his incredulous gaze from the Marquis to Drusilla, and then raised his hands helplessly.

  They passed a dozen people strolling on the boulevards, some recognising de Barros and others Drusilla. De Barros walked on, looking neither right nor left. Drusilla nodded and smiled in acknowledgment but did not slacken her pace. She knew that they had to move swiftly while the shock lasted with de Barros.

  In a narrow lane off one of the boulevards Drusilla turned quickly and Stefan’s great figure loomed out of the darkness. Drusilla stopped short.

  ‘You are in good time,’ said Stefan softly. ‘And I have a friend who can show us part of the way. Vasca Bombarda, who else?’

  The Catanese joined him, as Drusilla answered: ‘We know. Hurry, Stefan.’

  The Russian made no comment at the sight of de Barros, but at a word from the Marquis ranged himself alongside the man. Stefan’s great hand gripped de Barros’s elbow as they walked through the darkened streets. The drone of aircraft filled the sky, ’planes were circling round and waiting for the land forces to approach.

  They reached another side-street. De Barros stopped, and tapped on a door. In the stream of light coming from it as it opened they saw the man’s pale face and narrowed eyes. A man in the uniform of the Guarda saluted. The Marquis pressed his gun into the commandant’s ribs.

  ‘We are in a hurry,’ said de Barros tensely.

  ‘Si, Commandant.’ The man stepped aside, and they filed through after de Barros. They went along narrow passages and then down narrow flights of wooden stairs. Soon they heard the lapping of water, not far away. There were guards stationed at some of the places, and once a company of these ran towards them, and de Barros and the others pressed themselves close to the wall to let the men pass.

  An officer followed, and pulled up at the sight of de Barros.

  ‘You have heard, de Barros?’

  ‘Yes, I—’

  ‘We are going to interrogate the prisoners,’ interpolated the Marquis.

  ‘You’d better hurry,’ the officer said brusquely. ‘Orders have been sent through for them to be shot.’

  ‘All of them?’ Drusilla asked abruptly.

  ‘All who can name the leaders,’ snapped the officer. ‘Hurry, if it is important.’

  They pressed on, Drusilla half-running along the dimly-lighted passages. The way seemed interminable, and eventually they went through a doorway which led to a long, damp passage where the lights were so low that they could see no more than ten feet ahead of them. Water streamed from the walls, and they splashed through shallow puddles.

  At a corner de Barros stopped abruptly.

  The Marquis, immediately behind him, realised that the man had screwed himself up to a pitch of revolt. De Barros turned with a clenched hand, and the Marquis thrust his gun forward.

  ‘A shot will be heard!’ snapped de Barros. ‘You fool, I—’

  ‘This will not be heard,’ said Stefan quietly.

  He drove his fist into the man’s face as the Marquis evaded the first blow. The full weight of Stefan’s body was behind the punch, and de Barros thudded back against the wall; even in the dim light they could see his eyes rolling.

  ‘We can’t find them ourselves,’ gasped Drusilla.

  ‘Straight on, straight on!’ exclaimed Bombarda. I have been here before. Hurry!’

  Stefan pushed past Drusilla, and led the way. They left de Barros unconscious, and did not give him a further thought. They reached a door where a guard was standing, and the man lowered his rifle with fixed bayonet. The Marquis snapped: ‘We come from his Excellency.’

  ‘You have the password?’ said the guard.

  ‘Why, yes,’ said Stefan. He stretched out his long left arm and pushed the bayonet aside, the steel touching his fingers. With his right hand he drove home a punch which sent the man thudding against the wall. Stefan stopped the rifle from falling, and took the bayonet from its fitting. ‘It will be a good password,’ he said. ‘Come on, now.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake hurry!’ Drusilla said, shrill-voiced.

  ‘That door, señorita, that door—I recognise it.’ Bombarda pointed to a door which Stefan opened, and they found it led to another plaster-walled passage, and in turn to another as dank and wet as the first. There, for the first time, they heard shooting. Occasional shots crashed, and sometimes a scream followed. There were a dozen shots in all as they hurried along, past another door which was open. Ahead they could see members of the Guarda flinging open the door of a cell. There were two guards, both with rifles.

  ‘I think we dare shoot,’ murmured the Marquis.

  He fired twice, and both bullets found their mark. The guards sprawled forward and Stefan reached them, peering through the doorway. He saw a man and a woman, standing in one corner and staring defiantly at the door.

  ‘Clive,’ murmured Stefan. ‘Clive and his lady!’

  Leah Gentry had her head heavily bandaged and was standing only with Clive’s help. Clive seemed paralysed at sight of them, while Stefan snapped: ‘Can you get her away?’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No time for questions!’ roared Stefan. ‘Can she walk? No?’ He hurried across the cell and lifted the American girl, whose lips were moving as if in a prayer. He pushed the bayonet into Clive’s hand and snapped: ‘Turn right, and hurry!’

  Drusilla, Bombarda and the Marquis had gone on, and they found Palfrey and Brian two cells away.

  It was a moment when everything Drusilla had prayed for seemed to come true, for the men were alive and standing near the door, one on either side of it. The door was locked, but the Marquis had picked up a bunch of keys from the hands of the fallen guards, and he spoke as he fitted one in the lock and turned it.

  ‘We’ve a chance, Brian. Hallo, Palfrey.’

  ‘My oath!’ exclaimed Brian. ‘I—Drusilla!’

  Ahead of them Bombarda was calling: ‘There is a way out, not far from here—a way to the fields.’

  Shooting was echoing in their ears, as they hurried after Bombarda. Now and again they saw the guards at their murderous work, but there was no opportunity to stop them: and for the most part the work was finished. They crossed the underground chamber through which the river flowed, and then turned towards the passage Bombarda indicated.

  A doorway, standing open, was close to the water’s edge.

  Bombarda stopped and waited for Drusilla and Stefan to go through. Clive followed. Bombarda peered beyond them, and then gasped: ‘The guards, the guards!’

  He drew a pistol from his pocket. Directly in front of him was Clive, and the Englishman moved to one side, but he would have been too late to avoid the bullet had Palfrey not raised a hand and pushed Bombarda’s gun away. A bullet struck the ground not far from Clive, and Bombarda screamed: ‘The guards, they are coming!’

  Palfrey put out a hand and wrested the gun from the man’s hand, then pushed him towards the door. The others had gone, only Clive was waiting; footsteps were echoing behind them, but no one was in sight.

  ‘Go on,’ said Palfrey savagely.

  Together they hustled Bombarda along the passage. The man was gasping for breath, and his feet dragged. They did not let him fall, but went on until they reached a wider cavern and again heard shooting. It was coming from one side, and they saw the backs of a dozen Guarda who were standing by the walls, firing quickly, oblivious to what was happening behind them.

  The fugitives stopped.

  Bombarda, gasping for breath, seemed to be shaken by apoplexy. Stefan, who had led the way, lowered Leah Gentry to the floor, while the Marquis raised his automatic. Clive took Bombarda from Palfrey, and then Stefan emitted a single shout of command. Not a man
of the twelve standing by the wall, and firing, kept still. All swung round, finding themselves covered by the automatics, and by Stefan, who had recovered the bayonet from Clive. There was a short, tense silence, the greater because the shooting had stopped. I think we’re through,’ said the Marquis quietly. Something thudded into the wall.

  Palfrey stepped forward swiftly, raising his voice and calling out in English: ‘Hold your fire, there, hold your fire!’

  ‘Englishmen!’ breathed Brian.

  ‘Be quiet,’ snapped the Marquis, ‘and forget that!’ He opened one of the doors by which the guards had been standing, and several men jumped into the cavern. They were dark-faced, soot and dirt also covered their hands. They wore black battle-dress, but a distinct Cockney voice said: ‘Got the perishers! We’re okay.’

  Men streamed through, fifty or sixty of them going ahead and retracing the steps of the party which had just arrived. A man in battle-dress approached Brian, and then drew back, amazed. ‘Debenham!’

  ‘We must get outside quickly,’ said the Marquis. ‘Reunions later—the later the better.’ He spoke quickly to the English officer who had spoken, and then the party was led out to the side of the hill—the hill where Brian had seen two men disappear a few days before.

  He did not know for certain where he was, for lights from cars blazed about the countryside. Tanks were lined up outside, and men continued to stream through the entrances, most of them carrying Tommy-guns. Overhead droned the aeroplanes covering the movement, watchful but unneeded.

  Then Bombarda moved. He had recovered from the shaking fit, and was standing on his own, with Clive nearer him than any of the others. Quite suddenly he threw up his arms, then turned and ran towards the darkness beyond the circle of light. Drusilla, Brian and the Marquis stared at him in amazement, but Palfrey and Clive moved as swiftly as the Catanese. They were still in the radius of the light when they caught him. He struggled furiously, but to no purpose. The others joined him as Palfrey straightened up, and Clive kept the Catanese fast.

  ‘Has he gone mad?’ demanded the Marquis.

  ‘Mad, no,’ said Clive with feeling.

  ‘It’s just plain fear,’ said Palfrey softly. ‘Quite a shock coming to you, I think.’ In the garish light his smile was apologetic and hesitant. ‘Vasca Bombarda’s the man you’ve been looking for, he’s been working for both sides. Clive knew it—eh, Clive?’

  ‘I did,’ said Clive grimly.

  ‘And Bombarda realised that,’ said Palfrey jerkily, brushing his hair back. ‘Tried to shoot Clive inside, but it didn’t work. He didn’t realise that I knew him for what he is, either.’ Palfrey laughed on a high-pitched note. I wouldn’t have done but for his monkey. It proves that you shouldn’t make ‘em into pets. But is this the time to talk?’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Much is Explained

  They went first to the cottage where Stefan had been in hiding, finding much excitement in the streets but nothing to suggest that the public realised what was happening. Bombarda was with them, a shivering wreck of a man.

  There was no opportunity for talking at the cottage, for soon after reaching it Smith arrived. Gone was his woodenness, and he allowed it to be seen that he was in the throes of a deep excitement.

  ‘All but one of ’em over, bar shouting,’ he declared as he entered the room where they had gathered. ‘No stiff fighting—a cakewalk. Grand news, what?’ He beamed at the Marquis. ‘Everything as ordered, sir!’

  The Marquis chuckled.

  ‘And Señor José is at the casino,’ said Smith. ‘In what he calls brief authority. They missed Silverra, who got away, but caught Corra. Herculano and several of the others have committed suicide.’ He paused, and then went on: ‘They massacred the prisoners, only a few escaped. Bad show, that.’

  ‘Ye-es,’ said the Marquis slowly.

  Drusilla, standing between Brian and Palfrey, gripped a hand of each man; and each smiled. The woman of the cottage was insisting that Leah Gentry be put to bed, and consequently when the party left the cottage Leah was not with it. Clive joined them, and Bombarda was bundled into the car in which Stefan, Brian, Clive and Smith travelled. Palfrey and Drusilla were in the other car.

  The streets were quieter nearer the casino. Lights continued to blaze, but there were no strains of music and no laughter from open windows. They looked into the bigger rooms, finding them deserted, although here and there braver spirits were outside the casino itself gazing about them curiously. The aircraft droning had ceased, evidence enough that the action was over.

  José Fonesca, with Hermandes Bombarda, was in one of the bigger suites at the hotel, adjoining. The Marquis and Palfrey went in first, leaving the others with Vasca Bombarda. Palfrey found himself wondering what Hermandes would say when he heard the truth.

  Clive came in a few seconds afterwards.

  Fonesca stood up and smiled about him. He needed to support himself by putting a hand on the table and leaning heavily, but there was a hardier colour to his face, and little doubt that he would fully recover. His white hair rose up from his high forehead, and in his eyes there was a fire not so fanatical as Hermandes’, but bright nevertheless. Mingled with it was a humour which made Palfrey warm to the man.

  ‘And so, gentlemen!’ Fonesca uttered the English word carefully. ‘We are together, and we are successful. Thanks to the great efforts of my Party’ – his smile widened, grew positively roguish – ‘the Guarda Nationale finds itself without arms, without leaders, and with very few supporters. Admirable!’ He grew serious. ‘We need not hide words here. Señor Marquis, I shall never be able to thank you.’

  Then he turned his eyes towards Palfrey, and said quietly: ‘Sometimes I think that we shall never know how much we owe you, señor.’

  ‘Oh, me?’ Palfrey mumbled. ‘Fiddlesticks, I just did my job. And only just! But there’s something else.’ He looked at Hermandes, cleared his throat, looked at the Marquis quietly.

  ‘You go ahead,’ said the Marquis quietly.

  ‘Thanks. Er—not good, in some ways. But you know, José, that there was a spy with us? Other than Labollier?’ Fonesca nodded, and Palfrey went on hesitantly: ‘Labollier was in London, but I did wonder whether he had betrayed Brian Debenham. You know what I mean?’ Another nod. ‘I wondered who else was in London. One man was—Vasca Bombarda.’

  Hermandes stiffened, and his lips opened, but he made no comment.

  ‘There was a little monkey, too. Pretty little creature when you got to know him. Was transported by air from London to Orlanto. I thought once Leah Gentry had brought him, or someone I didn’t know. It wasn’t. Vasca did the job.’ He paused, and then said quietly: ‘Sorry about this, Hermandes.’

  The Catanese said nothing.

  ‘Well, I didn’t see it,’ said Palfrey. ‘Even when the Marquis was attacked I wondered whether one of us had talked; but obviously Vasca and Hermandes also knew he was coming. We mentioned them, but were misled to think of Drusilla.’ He smiled a little, then went on in a firmer voice: I quite missed Vasca, until he came to visit us in prison. He had some dirt on his face and a few tears in his clothes, painted bruises, and a frantic manner. I began to wonder then, he was so darned anxious to find out what we were planning. He didn’t know, you see, the Marquis kept it entirely to himself. Very wise. So Vasca got nothing out of us, and went off and pretended to get himself shot. Then a queer thing happened. The little monkey came in, in the dickens of a stew. Chased up and down, and was obviously looking for his master. Someone who had been in the cell, I gathered - and that made it pretty clear who it was. That monkey has been loaned out to others, to relieve Vasca of suspicion and to get us confused. For a while it did. Eh, Clive?’

  Hermandes sat quite still and expressionless.

  ‘You’ve worked that out well,’ said Clive appreciatively. ‘I’d discovered what he was doing, and tried to get word to you, but couldn’t manage it. I sent it by Leah, but she didn’t find Drusilla waiting.’ Clive
smiled sardonically. ‘It didn’t make much odds, and Leah will be all right. But I think you ought to know, Palfrey, that I’m not altogether a soldier of fortune. American Intelligence Service. Leah is, too.’

  Palfrey shrugged. I can’t be surprised at that.’

  ‘Señors’ said lose Fonesca very quietly, I understand the importance of these details to you, but—are you sure that Vasca Bombarda worked against me?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ said Palfrey simply. I wish I weren’t.’

  Hermandes stood up very slowly, and pressed his hands against his forehead. He stood like that for some seconds, and then spoke in a high-pitched voice: ‘So it is true. Always I have been afraid that money would ruin my brother. For such treachery—’ He paused, and then looked at José. ‘There is only one payment, José Fonesca. I ask that I may see my brother, alone.’ José said: ‘Yes, Hermandes.’ ‘Is he here?’ Hermandes asked abruptly. ‘Outside,’ said the Marquis, ‘with the others.’

  ‘There is a room where I will see him,’ said Hermandes. He walked to the door and opened it slowly. They heard him call Vasca. Palfrey was able to see into the outer room, and watched the brothers go into an anteroom adjoining. Drusilla, Stefan and Smith also watched, and heard the door close. The rooms were very silent, until abruptly the silence was broken by the report of a shot. After a pause, Hermandes came out.

  His face was deathly pale except for two spots of red on either cheek. He ignored the others but approached José, and put an automatic on the table in front of his leader.

  ‘Payment has been made,’ he said. ‘You will not want me now, José. You cannot trust me now. I shall, of course, leave you. I have been—’

  José put forward a hand and gripped Hermandes’ firmly.

  ‘I shall need you, Hermandes. Together we have to build for the future. Don Salvos will not always be here, this Government will not always remain, and we shall play our part in the rebuilding of the world. An important part, Hermandes, and yours will be none the less because of what has happened. Courage, my friend! We have been through much together, and we will see much more.’